


The Things You Make Me Say

by Rabakholi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Confessions, First Times, Geralts is bad at feelings, Jaskier is a little shit, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabakholi/pseuds/Rabakholi
Summary: He completely ignored Jaskier’s protests and just hauled him away, through the side streets until he stopped at a little tavern. He opened the door, shoved the bard through.“Wait, Geralt, what-““For fucks sake, please shut up for just a moment.”Geralt nodded at the bartender as they walked by, towards the stairs. Did he have a room here? They only just arrived this morning, how did he already have a room?“Geralt-“The Witcher growled, whirled him around and grabbed his jaw.“Jaskier. Shut. Up.”--Jaskier gets talked to, Geralt gets jealous and.. well, things happen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 309





	The Things You Make Me Say

Geralt had been trailing behind Jaskier all day, made sure he wasn’t alone and unprotected. Never let him out of his sight.  
Okay, maybe he was a bit overprotective, but could you blame him? Jaskier was rather unobservant and oblivious on a good day, he rarely caught danger until it hit him in the face.  
But that’s what Geralt was here for.  
And alas, as he stopped watching Jaskier to inspect some leather-bound books and fine quills, someone promptly saw their chance.  
Big, burly, face like a potato that fell onto the floor one too many times, no sense for personal space and social boundaries.  
Geralt growled and his brain completely shut off when the stranger took Jaskier by the arm and attempted to pull him away. He was by his side immediately, face terrifying to look at and posture clearly tense and ready to pounce.  
Jask was struggling against the man’s hold on his arm and didn’t notice Geralt until he talked.

“You better take your hand off my man, or I’ll do it for you.”

Jask would deny his squawk until the day he died, but he was glad for Geralt’s appearance still.  
The stranger sneered and ran his eyes over Geralt, before looking back at Jaskier.

“That guy with you?”

Before he could answer, Geralt pulled him close, pressed a kiss to his temple and growled: “Got a problem?”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered at the possessive display and he curled his hand tighter into his bag to stop himself from clinging to Geralt. He’d surely not appreciate the bard taking advantage when he just wanted to help. So he forced himself to relax and put a smile on his face – when all he wanted to do was to turn in Geralt’s embrace and tuck his face against his neck and never let go.  
Why did he always have to fall for the wrong ones? The unapproachable ones?  
Potatoface let go of Jaskier’s arm and murmured something that made Geralt growl even fiercer, louder.

“Leave right now and I’ll let you live.”

He didn’t really want to let him live, not after he frightened and hurt his bard. The monster inside him fought for control, but Geralt knew if he let loose, the result would not be pretty and for now he needed to get Jaskier out of this place.

“If you’re fast enough, I won’t even hunt you down.”

Jaskier’s eyes got all big and round, the shock obvious.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher hushed him softly, his arm tightening around him.

“It’s okay, shh.” 

Potatoface seemed to smarten up and decide to keep his life, because he scoffed and stomped away.  
Geralt stared after him, trying to make him fall to the floor in a heap of dead flesh, but he – fortunately – did not have that kind of power. Jaskier blinked, trying to progress the Witcher’s hands still on him. He also didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let the bard go, which – weird?

“Uh, Geralt-“

His head whipped around, golden eyes focused on Jaskier: “Are you okay?”  
Taken aback, Jaskier nodded. What the fuck was even going on?

“Good.”

He turned, arm still around the bard and stalked off into the opposite direction.

“Wait, what the fuck did he say? Geralt!”

He completely ignored Jaskier’s protests and just hauled him away, through the side streets until he stopped at a little tavern. He opened the door, shoved the bard through.

“Wait, Geralt, what-“  
“For fucks sake, please shut up for just a moment.”

Geralt nodded at the bartender as they walked by, towards the stairs. Did he have a room here? They only just arrived this morning, how did he already have a room?

“Geralt-“

The Witcher growled, whirled him around and grabbed his jaw.

“Jaskier. Shut. Up.”

His eyes were dark and a testament to his self-control because they looked absolutely wild. Jaskier came to realized just how tense Geralt was.  
He snapped his mouth shut and nodded. Or tried to. Geralt’s big hand restricted him somewhat and Jaskier tried so hard to keep his brain and body under control. He’d dreamed of Geralt holding him like this, but in a wholly different context.

“Upstairs.”

Geralt jerked his head, telling Jaskier to go up, to fucking move.  
His hand let him go and instead touched his lower back, guiding him. It felt weirdly intimate and warm, and Jaskier was _confused_.

Geralt was seething inside. Seeing that brute, that sleazy fucker touch Jaskier, _his_ bard – he could be glad Geralt didn’t cut him down right there. And then he felt the other relax against him, let himself be taken care of- fuck, his insides did somersaults.  
If he would just do what he was told without talking back one fucking time. _Just fucking once_.

Once in his room, he locked the door and braced his hands against it, just breathing for a moment. He needed to calm down. Otherwise he’d do something stupid, he knew. Something like kiss Jaskier. Or hoist him up and fuck him against the door.  
A hand touched his back, right between his shoulders.

“Geralt?”

Jaskier sounded concerned, cautious. Geralt tried to relax, unclench his jaw and let down his shoulders from where they were pulled up to his ears. How would he ever live if anything happened to his bard? If he ever took interest in someone, real interest? Jealousy reared its head again, ugly creature like it was. It sharpened its claws, whet them on his ribs and it _hurt_.

“Hey, nothing happened.”

Jaskier’s voice was soft, comforting, as if he were shushing a wild animal; he was, in a way.  
He wasn’t sure what was going on inside the Witcher’s head, but he did relax under his hands, just slightly. It was a start.  
Geralt mumbled something under his breath, barely audible and it frustrated Jaskier to no end.

“Could you please speak up, I wasn’t gifted with superior hearing, my friend.”

Oh.  
Oh shit.  
Geralt tensed all over again, his back hunched and his hands on the door curled to fists.  
Shit, what did he say?

Before Jaskier could backtrack in any way, Geralt had whirled around, grabbed him and pushed him against the door. The bard was caged in by this big, thick man, and It probably should not make him feel this safe.  
Still, Jaskier hoped Geralt would chalk his erratic breath up to the sudden change of position and proximity. The hand on his hip burned through the material of his clothes, the other had found it’s way to his jaw once more, Geralt’s thumb right over his pulse point.

“I am not your friend.”

Jaskier froze, both at the words and the sound of his voice. He sounded raw, hurt, pained. He didn’t think he’d ever heard him like that before.

“What?”

Geralt refused to meet Jaskier’s eyes and focused on his eyebrows instead, then his nose, his lips.

“I can’t be your _friend_ , Jaskier.” A humorless chuckle left his lips. “I can’t watch you, day in day out and pretend to be your friend. I can’t pretend to not want you any longer, I’m sorry.”  
Geralt pushed away, back to the bard and rubbed his hands over his face.  
“Fuck, the things you make me say.”

Jaskier needed a couple of seconds to process whatever Geralt had just told him. Has it been… a confession? Did Geralt feel more than just annoyed fondness for him?  
Did he – Did he _like_ him???

“Geralt-“ He had to clear his throat before continuing. “Geralt, what do you want?”

He watched the Witcher’s ribcage expand with every breath he took, watched him turn his head.  
The tension was palpable, made it hard to breathe. Jaskier was sure he would pass out any second, if Geralt decided to stall.  
He didn’t need to worry.  
The Witcher let out a deep sigh and sunk down on the bed, elbows on his knees.

“I want you.”

When he looked up, his face was so open, so earnest, Jaskier knees almost gave out.

“I want to be close to you at all times, I want to be on your mind at all times.”

Geralt watched the bard come closer.

“I want to kiss and touch you.”

Jaskier chose to ignore the way his man’s voice had cracked in the middle there; instead, he made a place for himself between Geralt’s knees and forced him to sit up straight, lean back a bit even.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier cupped his face, brushed his thumbs along his cheekbones. The motion was so tender and loving and strange to Geralt, it send a shiver down his spine.

“You are the most amazing idiot on this whole wide world, I swear.”

Geralt watched his lips move, watched him smile so bright it could take out a vampire; he was mesmerized.

“Geralt, you can touch me. You can also kiss me.”

The words got stuck in his ear canal somewhere, because it took a second for Geralt to react. But then his hands lifted from his thighs to wrap around the back of Jaskier’s thighs, mapping the territory.

“I can?”  
“Yes, love.”

Bad choice of words.

Jaskier squealed as Geralt hoisted him up and over his shoulder so he’d land on the bed with a hefty oof and a bounce.  
Geralt was upon him not much later, straddling him and holding his face in his hands.

“Are you sure?”

Jaskier scoffed and mirrored Geralt. The stubble on his cheeks tickled his palms as he answered: “No, you’re delusional, my friend.”

A child would have noticed the sarcasm in his words.  
Geralt growled and kissed Jaskier.

Finally.

He grinned, giddy happiness filling him. He couldn’t believe it.  
And neither could Jaskier.   
Their kisses were hot and messy, sloppy even. Hair was pulled, lips were nipped, it was harsh and wild.

“Grind down on me, Geralt, come on.”

Jaskier ran a hand down Geralt’s back and cupped his asscheek, then squeezed. 

“I know you want to.”

Geralt didn’t wait for Jaskier to maybe change his mind. He moved his hips, rhythm fast and hard immediately. He’d been holding back for too long, he just wanted to feel and hear and taste and see.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier moaned at Geralt’s curse, his stomach somersaulting: “Geralt, you’re so fucking hot. So precious too, fuck.”

It felt delicious, the way Jaskier’s bulge rubbed along Geralt’s dick and balls, caught just behind his balls, if he moved just right. He groaned into Jaskier’s skin, right underneath his jaw, where he left red blotches, little marks that would hopefully bloom into pretty bruises. He needed to leave his claim in a way that was impossible to miss. _He had to_.  
He buried his hand in his bard’s hair, the brown locks spilling from between his fingers.

“You smell so good, Jask.”

His senses were filled with both their arousal, precum, desire, love. “I want to make you smell like me, Jask.”  
The bard laughed, a deep chuckle that was music to Geralt’s ears. “Oh, you possessive idiot.” 

He lifted his lips just a bit to rut against the Witcher. His eyes were half-closed, his lips shiny with spit and swollen from their aggressive kissing.   
He shifted under Geralt, lazy smile on his lips.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The witcher froze, just for a second, before he cursed and scrambled off the bard. His hands fumbled with his breeches’ laces while he commanded Jaskier to undress as well.  
He looked up, white strands hanging into his eyes, hair completely disheveled.

“Please,” he added.

Fuck, if that wasn’t a sign for the heavens. Geralt, big badass monster hunter, terrifying Witcher, had asked nicely and looked almost chastised while doing so. The bard had to be careful not to blow his load right then.  
They didn’t take long to undress. Clothing was flung to the floor, boots kicked under the bed when Geralt got on and crawled back to Jaskier.  
The bard was a sight for sore eyes, one hand on his thigh, the other was slowly stroking his dick. Geralt had to stare for a bit; fuck did he want to taste. Maybe later.  
He let his hands trail up Jaskier’s thighs, until he could bring them back around to his ass and haul him in, bring him closer.

“You’re driving me crazy, bard.”  
“Good.”

Oh, how smug he sounded. Jaskier procured a vial of oil from somewhere, Geralt had no idea. But he didn’t particularly care, there was barely enough blood left in his brain to think straight. Or as straight as he was able to.  
He took the vial with a sweet kiss on Jaskier’s lips. As he pulled back, his eyes fell upon the bard’s neck, mottled with spots and bites. Yes.  
Carnal possessiveness flooded his veins, and his cock started throbbing even more, precum dribbling from his tip.

“Oh, how handsome you are, Geralt.”

The bard ogled Geralts cock, then wiggled his hips. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Yes.”

Geralt snapped out of it, opened the vial and coated his fingers in the liquid. He wrapped one hand around Jaskier’s on his hip, then circled the bard’s rim. He clenched in anticipation, his hips moving again in an effort to make Geralt hurry up.

“Geralt. Now.”  
“Oh, yes.”

He pressed one finger in, surprised to find no resistance at all. Still, he took it slow, took his time, until Jaskier urged him on once again.

“You will add another finger or I will do it myself.”

And so he did. And they went in so smoothly, he almost lost his mind.  
Why was he so loose? Why was there no resistance? He should have to stretch him, what was going on?  
And then It hit him. He was already stretched. He’d had someone’s dick up his ass and it hasn’t been long enough to tighten back up. It also hasn’t been Geralt’s cock.  
A deep, vicious growl erupted from his chest, his fingers crocking and suddenly fucking into Jaskier at a mad pace.

“Did you sleep with someone?” He grunted at one of Jaskier’s whines and spread his fingers, scissoring his bard’s hole.  
“Did you let someone else fuck you? Were you lying?”

His voice was just as dark as his growl, the both of them layering and making Jaskier shiver underneath him.  
He tried to speak, but Geralt’s assault on him felt too good. He got a small break when Geralt shifted closer, latched onto his shoulder and buried his teeth there, probably leaving a very prominent mark.

“No, I- ah. I fingered myself to the thought of you!”

Geralt froze. He felt like his brain had been blown out, his heart crushed. He… what?  
Jaskier startled when Geralt suddenly pulled back with that blank, wide-eyed look on his face. They stared at each other, the bard too startled too move and the Witcher too shellshocked.  
Only when Geralt let out a low and breathy whine, almost like a hurt animal, did Jaskier remember his ability to move. He sat up slightly, reached for Geralt; did not get far.  
Geralt wrapped his hands around Jaskier’s hand and wrist, his other hand clenching at the bard’s hip.

“Julian.”

The mood toppled, shifted, desire burning in their veins like dry wood in the kiln. The were upon each other, skin to skin, Geralt back to fingering his bard, get him ready; he couldn’t wait much longer.  
It was hot, it was sticky and slick and if Geralt wasn’t gonna fuck him soon, Jaskier thought he’d have to die.

“Come on, Geralt. Please.”

Oh, and could he ever resist when Jaskier begged. Never.   
He hooked one of his legs over his arm and rubbed the head of his cock against Jaskiers hole.

“Breathe.”

And then he pushed in.  
Jaskier’s eyes rolled back, his mouth fell open and he let out a choked gasp. Fuck, it was so much better than imagined. He was half sure he was babbling, but Geralt didn’t seem to mind or even notice. He just kneeled there, his fingers pressed into Jaskier’s skin as if he needed something to anchor himself. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back and his chest heaving. He drew in air, shakily, and when he exhaled, Jaskier’s body twitched.   
His name had never sounded better than when it spilled from Geralt’s lips like a prayer, like something precious.

“ _Julian._ ”

A dam broke. Or a wall. Didn’t matter, _something_ broke. Something gave way and Jaskier _loved_ it.  
Geralt fucked into him without mercy, without caring if he left bruises or marks. He even kissed any red spots he could reach, murmured his possessiveness into Jaskier’s skin. And while Jaskier was absolutely on board with all of that, he felt almost overwhelmed. He’d loved for so long, careful not to let Geralt see. And now he was tangled with Geralt, on the bed, the sheets sticky and a mess, and it was exhilarating.  
He raked his nails down Geralt’s arm and bucked against him, tried to find a rhythm, but Geralt simply fucked him into submission.

“Just take me, Jaskier, take all of me. You’re mine.”

Fuck.  
Geralt shifted, bent Jaskier into half and adjusted his thrusts.  
Harder. Faster. Better.  
Jaskier was leaking precum, his dick now trapped between them and the friction drove him crazy. Absolutely crazy.  
Geralt held his legs in place, his forehead pressed against his calf as he took him apart.

“You’re perfect. You’re mine. I’ll make you remember that.”

A deep, rough growl revibrated through Geralts chest and Jaskiers body. He keened, threw his head back, begged.  
He needed release, he needed to cum. He needed it.

“Please, Geralt. Please.”  
“Mine.”  
“Please.”

Geralt picked up the pace; it became even more inhuman, animalistic. No mortal would have been able to keep it up. Jaskier himself felt like dying, his whole body overwhelmed and coiled tight.  
Geralt suddenly pulled out, just when Jaskier was about to break, and he flipped him around, manhandled him into a preferred position.  
He was like a blanket of fire along Jaskier’s back, the heat he radiated making sure his lover wasn’t getting cold. A soft kiss was pressed to Jaskier’ temple before Geralt sat up.  
He was positioned on Jaskiers now stretched legs. His cock, fat and swollen and leaking was situated between the bards asscheeks; the view was too nice.  
Geralt ran his hands down Jaskier’s back. His unmarred, unmarked back.

No.  
_Mark him, mark him up._

Geralt shifted forward, his hands in the bedsheets next to Jaskier and his lips latched to the top of his spine. He licked and bit and grinded his cock against his bards ass, all the while growling and whispering praise.  
Jaskier felt so empty, and the grinding cock on his ass was the worst of teasing. He whined, pressed back against his witcher and raised his hips.

“Don’t be fucking mean, get back into me already.”

Geralt chuckled and bit the skin stretching over his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

“Patience, Julian.”

Jaskier pressed his face into the sheets and wriggled in frustration.

“Fuck.”

He raised his hips as much as possible and reached down to take himself in hand; did not go well.  
Geralt stopped him with a hand wrapped around his arm and pulled it from between the bed and Jask’s body.

“So, that’s how needy we are, huh?”

He raised both Jaskier’s arms over his head and held them there with one hand. The other caressed his ass, squeezing and stroking in cirlces, before he smacked the left cheek.

“You’re so needy, can’t even wait?”

Another smack, the sting making Jaskier drool a bit.

“Well then.”

Geralt’s voice was so unbelievably gravely and bassy, Jaskier could feel every word he said in his chest.

“Fuck, you’re so impatient.” He chuckled. “Take me then.”

He pressed in, his thick cock breaching Jaskier once again, but the angle was different.  
The bard couldn’t not, he started moaning and pushing back, eager to take him in, to be filled to the brim. He wanted to cum, he needed Geralt to fuck him.  
And he did. Straight up resumed in the pace he’d left off earlier, the friction fucking delicious.  
His arms were still held hostage, therefore Jaskier didn’t have much room to move, but fuck, if that wasn’t half the appeal.

“You’re mine, Julian. Mine.”

Geralt murmured right into the bards ear.

“Cum for me, my pretty flower.”  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
